


All My Life I've Been Good (But Now)

by jakia



Category: Glee
Genre: Blaine and Artie friendship, Blaine and Mike friendship, Blaine-as-Tina AU, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 03:35:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3635100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jakia/pseuds/jakia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU.  When his parents inform him that Dalton is no longer considered an option like he thought it was, a terrified and still-broken fourteen year old Blaine attempts to rediscover himself, in gothic clothing, a fake stutter, and the McKinley High New Directions.  [or, what if Blaine was Tina?  Season one AU.  Klaine plus a multitude of Blaine-centric friendships.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Pairings: Kurt/Blaine. One-sided Kurt/Finn, Rachel/Blaine. Background Artie/Brittany and Finn/Rachel/Jesse.
> 
> Friendships: Blaine + Everyone, but mostly the most epic of all Blaine + Artie friendships, Blaine + Mike, Blaine + Rachel, and a tiny little bit of Blaine + Jesse that snuck in there when I wasn’t looking.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own anything. Also, while this is, indeed, a Klaine story, the romance is the B-plot in this. This story is primarily about Blaine and his friendships, relationships, and trials as a freshman at McKinley, and while romance is a part of it, it’s not what drives this story, and really, doesn’t even come up much until later chapters. 
> 
> I started this while Glee was in the middle of season 3, and never finished it. That said, there are 9 chapters of it so far, so I figured I'd post one a day and see how you guys like it.
> 
> Special thanks to Rainbowrites, who helped me all those years ago come up with ideas and flesh this out a bit. :3

“I don’t know, Blainey.  I think the highlights are a bit much.”

Blaine scowled as he finished towel-drying his hair.  Pitch-black curls with streaks of red stared back at him through his webcam, the color stark against his brother’s shit-eating grin.  “Shut up, Cooper.  No one asked you.”

“Actually, _you_ did, Squirt, sometime around the moment you called me, asking me what you could do that would piss Mom and Dad off the most.  I said _get a tongue ring_ , and somehow this translated into you dyeing your hair and maxing out your credit card at the Hot Topic, but hey, what do I know?”

Blaine frowned.  “Piercings _hurt_ , Coop.”

“Aww, did little bitty Blainey chicken out of getting a big, bad piercing?”

Blaine blushed slightly.  “Shut up, Cooper.”

His brother continued to laugh.  “Oh, calm down, Squirt, I’m on your side here.  I may not agree with your… _methods_ , but I’m on your side.” Cooper grinned, looking over the outfit Blaine had laid out for school the next day.  “Have Mom and Dad seen you yet?”

This time, Blaine smiled back.  “No, they haven’t.”

“Mom’s going to have a _heart attack._ ”

“Good,” Blaine said bitterly.  “Maybe they’ll reconsider and send me to Dalton like they promised.”

“True.  I mean, _obviously_ public school has turned you into some sort of delinquent.” Cooper grinned, eyeing the red streaked hair and the skull bowtie Blaine had left sitting on his desk. “Or maybe you’ll get beat up again a different public school this time, and this time you’ll get brain damage so you know, Mom and Dad will feel guilty enough to send you to Dalton this time.”  
  
Blaine groaned.  “That’s not funny, Cooper.”  
  
“Oh.  Too soon?”

Blaine wasn’t sure if _forever_ wouldn’t be too soon.  “Um, maybe a little bit?”

“Right.  Sorry.”

“It’s fine, Coop, I’m just—“ His hands were shaking against his will.  “I’m nervous, I think?”

“Oh, Blainey.  Don’t be.”

“I don’t want to get beat up again.” Blaine confessed softly.

“I don’t want you too, either.  But hey, you never know!  Maybe William McKinley High has a _thriving_ gay population, and you’ll fit right in.”

Blaine rolled his eyes.  “In _Lima_ _, Ohio_ _?_ ”

“…Well, you never know!  They could!” Cooper argued as Blaine snorted with a small chuckle.  “Anyway, it will be okay, Squirt.  And if it’s not, hey, maybe you can run away to L.A. and move in with me!”

Blaine would sooner kill himself than willingly move in with his older brother.  “Uh, maybe Coop.  I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Right.  Well, get some sleep, Squirt.  You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

 

* * *

 

It’s not that Blaine minded not going to Dalton.  Not really.  Yes, it would have been nice to have gone to a school with an anti-bullying policy, to not have to fear for his life every time he walked down the halls, or looked at a boy in any way other than friendly. 

It was just the way his parents went about it that pissed Blaine off.

Oh, they were all for the transfer when the attack first happened, and Blaine was still hospitalized and hadn’t even started high school yet.  But the longer summer dragged on, the more Blaine’s father started to have his doubts.  After all, what sort of parent would he be if he didn’t let his son his son fight his own battles?  Going to Dalton was taking the coward’s way out, and Mr. Anderson hadn’t raised a coward.

Soon, Dalton was out of the question in the minds of the Anderson parents, and it had taken Blaine _weeks_ of begging, on his hands and knees, for them to even consider sending him to McKinley at all, rather than simply forcing him return to Belleville like last year.

Yes, he was angry.  He was angry, and he was hurt.  Did his parents not care about his safety at all? Did they _want_ him to get killed? His Dad talked a big talk about wanting Blaine to become a man and stand up for himself, but the truth of the matter was that at the end of the day, Blaine was a tiny guy, no matter how many boxing lessons or self-defense classes he took.  If three hulking guys came after him with baseball bats ever again, Blaine was going to _lose_ , plain and simple.

So maybe he was being stupid.  Maybe there were better ways of rebelling than dyeing your hair and wearing all black, but Blaine for the life of him couldn’t think of one.

And so far, at least, his makeover was having its desired effect.  No one at McKinley had even tried to talk to him. Oh, they _stared_ at him of course, but it was almost like they were _afraid_ of him more than anything else.

_Good_ , he thought bitterly, stalking down the halls and avoiding eye contact.  _Let them be afraid of me._ If they were afraid him, then they wouldn’t talk to him.  And if they didn’t talk to him, they couldn’t find out he was gay.  And if they didn’t know he was gay, well, he might just survive high school yet.

He hadn’t wanted to go back into the closet, but after what had happened, and how his parents had reacted---he couldn’t _imagine_ being out and proud anymore.  At least, not while he was still in Ohio.  He would keep his sexuality a secret, at least for as long as he possibly could.

It was safer this way.  Lonelier, yes, but safer.  And at this point in Blaine’s life, safety was all that really mattered.

Call him a coward, but he didn’t want to die.  Not yet.  And not for something as uncontrollable as his sexuality, something he could keep hidden for as long as possible, even though it hurt him inside.

And then, out of the blue in the middle of the McKinley hallway, just when Blaine had thought it was safe, there _was_ someone brave enough to talk to Blaine. 

A boy, a little shorter than Blaine but who probably simply hadn’t hit his growth spurt yet, or maybe only seemed short because Blaine’s boots made him seem tall, with meticulously kept brown bangs and a fabulous blue Marc Jacobs jacket.  He was _gorgeous_ , and a year ago, Blaine would have swooned over him, would have held his hand and sang some ridiculous Katy Perry song to him.

But that would have been a year ago, and Blaine wasn’t that confident anymore.

“Excuse me,” the boy said, his voice higher than Blaine expected.  “But is that a McQueen shirt you’re wearing?”

It was, indeed, an Alexander McQueen screen printed tee, which he wore over a turtleneck and underneath a dark leather spiked jacket.  (Just because he had decided to try out the whole goth look _did not_ mean he was going to stop wearing designer clothes, _please._ )

Blaine gave the boy a soft smile.  “It is.”

The boy’s smile got wider.  “I think you’re the first person other than me in this school who even knows what I’m talking about.” The boy held out his hand, which Blaine shook hesitantly.  “I’m Kurt Hummel.”

“…My name’s Blaine.”

The boy raised an eyebrow curiously.  “ _Pretty in Pink?_ ”

Blaine couldn’t help but grin.  “My mom was a fan, yes.”

“Well, she has good—“

All of the sudden, a flood of blue ice hit Kurt straight in the face, as a small herd of boys in red lettermen jackets passed by, high-fiving each other and laughing obnoxiously.  “Keep out of the halls, Ladyface!”

Panic started seeping into Blaine’s bones.  Oh God, this was going to be like Belleville all over again, wasn’t it?  It wasn’t going to get better at _all_.  At least, Blaine tried to force himself to breathe, it was just a slushy.  At Blaine’s old high school, that would have been a swirly, or a dumpster toss, or a locker check.

The panic must have shown in his face, because Kurt simply frowned at him.  “And that’s how we say hello at McKinley, apparently.” He coughed, dripping blue slush all around him.  “I’m just going to go—clean up now.  Nice meeting you, Blaine.”

A warm feeling rushed to the pit of Blaine’s stomach as Kurt smiled.  Oh no.  This was not good.  This was not good _at all._   “Right,” Blaine laughed awkwardly.  “Nice meeting you too, Kurt.”

And then he was gone, and Blaine was alone again in a crowded hallway, with nothing but blue slush on the ground in front of him.

 

* * *

 

Whoever Kurt Hummel was, he wasn’t in any of Blaine’s classes that day.  Which didn’t surprise Blaine in the least.  Somebody that cute was probably most definitely an upperclassman, and was probably taking much cooler classes than whatever it was Blaine had to suffer through.  _Stop it brain.  Bad brain.  Bad._

“Psst,” a poke in his side interrupted his daydreaming, and he jumped a little in shock.  A girl in similar gothic clothing was sitting beside him in English, and had apparently poked him to get his attention.  She smiled at him with a wide grin.  “I like your boots.”

Oh God.  People weren’t supposed to _talk_ to him. People were just supposed to think he was a freak and leave him alone. “T-thanks.”

Great, now he was stuttering.  Good job, Blaine.

“Can I borrow a pencil?” The black haired girl asked, with a somewhat flirty grin.  Oh God.  Not good.

“Um, s-sure.”  He said, his polite nature overriding his initial panic.  “N-not a p-problem.”

“Why are you stuttering?” She said obliviously as he dug around for an extra pencil.

How _rude_.  “I-I’m not s-stuttering.” He stuttered again, this time on purpose.  Blaine could stand a lot of things in life, but he particularly hated rudeness.  And really, if someone _did_ have a stuttering problem, why on Earth would you bring attention to it? Some people had no class, really.

The girl rolled her eyes at him as he finally handed over one of his extra pencils.  “Whatever, weirdo.”

The important thing, however, was that she left him alone for the rest of the class.  Sure, she thought he had a (made-up, entirely false) stuttering problem, but she also _didn’t talk to him_ , which was absolutely what he wanted right now.

_When you have a stutter, people at McKinley apparently decide to stop talking to you._

He filed away that information for later use.

* * *

 

He didn’t see Kurt again until the very end of the day, and even then it was only at a distance.  He thought for a minute about walking up to him, and telling him that he liked the brown button up he had changed into after getting hit by the slushy, and maybe also telling him that Blaine thought he was absolutely beautiful and would like to hold his hand and maybe kiss him, if that was alright with him.

…He didn’t go up and talk to him.

He did, however, watch him as he signed up for some club or another, and then watched as he walked away, beautiful and graceful and far better than every simpleton he walked past.

And then, in a lame moment of truly stalkerish behavior, he walked up to the bulletin board and tried to find out what extracurricular Kurt had signed up for.

It wasn’t the Cheerios, or the football team, that was for sure.  It also wasn’t chess club, or the Brainiacs, or the Nessy club, though those looked like fun, too.  It wasn’t Jazz Band either, though Blaine had to stop himself from signing up for that one simply out of habit.

Instead, he found Kurt’s name under the Glee club list.  It wasn’t a very long list.  It had four names, total—an _Arty Abrams_ , a _Mercedes Jones_ , a _Kurt Hummel_ (and Blaine had to stop himself from drawing a little heart out beside Kurt’s name, oh God, _stop it brain._ ) and a _Rachel  * Berry,_ which seemed obnoxious even on paper _._   That was it.  Just four people.

…Belleville hadn’t had a Glee Club.  There hadn’t been enough interest in it, in singing and performing.

Blaine frowned, and studied the list carefully.  On one hand, if he joined the same club as Kurt, he might have the talk to him.

…On the other hand, if he joined the same club as Kurt, he might get to talk to him.

And, well, Blaine had always liked singing.  He was, as far as anyone could tell, quite good at it.  Before he came out of the closet and promptly stopped going, he had always sang in his church choir.  And in the school musical his last year of middle school, he had gotten the lead role because of his voice.

He could sing.  Yeah, he could _definitely_ sing.

And as for the other people in Glee Club, well, there were only four of them.  And they probably wouldn’t even want to talk to Blaine, what with his (fake) stutter and gothic attire.

And if they did?  Well, it was only four people.  And they probably would never know Blaine was gay.  Singing didn’t make you gay, right?

Beside, who knew?  Maybe at McKinley, the Glee Club was actually cool.

Before he could change his mind any further, he scrawled _B-b-blaine A-anderson_ under the Glee Club list.

It was official now.

Blaine Anderson had just joined Glee Club.


	2. Chapter 2

Glee Club was a nightmare.  Well, no, nightmare wasn’t the right word.  _Disaster_ might’ve been better.

Sure, Blaine’s audition had gone swell (though maybe a punk rock rendition of _I Kissed a Girl_ wasn’t the best choice—Mr. Schuester seemed a little disturbed by it), and his fellow Glee Club members seemed… _nice_ , if terribly self-absorbed. 

 _Sit Down You’re Rocking the Boat_ had been awful, but they managed to get their act somewhat together enough to sound decent on _Don’t Stop Believing_ by the end of the week _._

And, if Mr. Schue was to be believed, it was all thanks to Finn Hudson --football star, jock, bully, and, apparently, the newest member of Glee Club.

If it was possible to hate someone immediately, then Blaine was quite sure he hated Finn Hudson.  He could barely sing, for one, and he _definitely_ couldn’t dance, and just last week he was helping throw kids like Kurt (like Blaine) into dumpsters.  And for him being their leader? _Ha!_ A _cardboard box_ was a better leader than Finn!

…The fact that Kurt looked at him like he hung the moon was the worst part, though.

Okay, so fine, _maybe_ he was just jealous, and jealousy was petty so he tried not to be, but he still couldn’t help but look at Finn and wonder what anyone was supposed to see in him. 

_Stupid Finn.  Stupid jock. So what if he’s ~tall~ and ~popular~--he can’t sing and he can’t dance, and he smells bad, like old gym socks._

_…He’s not even **that** cute_ …

“Blaine? Blaine!  _Hello_ , are you there?”

Blaine stopped mid-head rant and stared.  It was Kurt.  _Kurt_ , who hadn’t said two words to him since he joined Glee Club, was _talking to him._

“O-oh.  H-hi.  S-s-sorry about that, K-kurt.  W-what do y-you n-need?”

Kurt stared at him with disbelief before shaking his head.  “I was wondering if you wanted to come over to my house after school?

“W-what for?”

Kurt smiled at him warmly.  “To practice dance.  I’ve been trying to teach myself the Single Ladies’ dance so we can use it in Glee Club, but I don’t want to show everyone until I got it down.  You’re probably the best dancer in Glee Club right now, and I was just wondering if you’d help me practice?” Kurt rushed, his face tinted lightly pink.  “My friend Brittany will be there, too, she’s really pretty, you’ll like her, so it won’t be, uh, gay.”

Blaine blinked at him slowly.  Something about this seemed a bit off to him.  “Why aren’t you asking Mercedes?” He asked finally, having realized that Kurt hadn’t mentioned her at all and the two were, as far as Blaine could tell, joined at the hip.  “Aren’t you guys dating or something?”

“Oh, you haven’t heard.” Kurt laughed softly.  “I’m _gay_ , Blaine.”

The butterflies in Blaine’s stomach skyrocketed.  He had thought Kurt was--like him--but he hadn’t wanted to assume anything, and he most certainly hadn’t wanted to out Kurt if that was the case.  “Really?”

“Yeah,” Kurt smiled.  “I—I’m not _completely_ out yet, but most people just assume by looking at me.  Apparently you and Mercedes are the only two people in the world not to just look at me and automatically think _gay kid._ ”

“I try not to assume things about people.” Blaine laughed awkwardly.  “I mean, _assuming_ makes an _ass_ out of _u_ and _me._ ” Blaine laughed again, a little louder this time.  “Wow, that was lame, sorry.”

But Kurt wasn’t laughing.  Instead, he was looking at Blaine fondly, and Blaine felt his cheeks turn as red as the streaks in his hair.  “No, it’s not lame.  It’s…nice, actually.  I wish more people were like that.”

If Blaine’s life were a romantic comedy, this would be the moment when he told Kurt that he was gay, too, and they would smile at each other shyly, and Blaine would go to Kurt’s house that night, and they’d talk some more, and maybe even hold each other’s hands if they were feeling particularly scandalous.

Blaine’s life was not a romantic comedy, however, and so he didn’t say anything at all.

Kurt coughed awkwardly, breaking up the silence and pulling Blaine out of his daydream again.  “So,” He offered with a gentle smile.  “Dancing?”

And Blaine _wanted_ to say yes.  He wanted to say yes so badly it made his heart hurt just looking at Kurt, with his bright eyes and optimistic smile.

…But a few months ago, he also wanted to go to a dance with a boy, and look where that got him.  He still had scars to prove it.

“I can’t,” Blaine said sadly, breaking his own heart as he spoke.  “I’m sorry.”

Kurt’s face fell.  “Oh.  Right.  Sorry to bother you, then.”

Kurt turned to leave, but Blaine grabbed his hand.  The rejection on Kurt’s face was as easy for Blaine to read as anything in the world—it was an expression Blaine had worn all the time last year after coming: the look of _oh, I thought it hadn’t mattered to you that I was gay. I thought you wouldn’t treat me any different. I guess I was wrong._ “ _Kurt._   It’s not because you’re gay.”

Kurt stopped and turned his attention back to Blaine. 

He swallowed the breath he was holding.  “It’s not, I promise.  I know it sounds like it, but it’s not.  I don’t care that you’re gay, Kurt.  That doesn’t bother me.  I just—“ _quick, lie about something!_   “—Already made plans to hang out with Artie after school.”

“Oh!” Kurt smiled widely, like Blaine had just made his day.  Blaine cherished that feeling, warm and glowing in the pit of his stomach.  “Well then, I understand.” He let go of Blaine’s hand gently; Blaine had forgotten he was even still holding it.

“I look forward to seeing your dance, though,” Blaine smiled at him.  “Once it’s done of course.”

“Right.” Kurt grinned, turning back to leave the choir room.  “Thank you, Blaine.”

“Any time.”

* * *

 

He didn’t make it two feet outside the choir room when someone called out to him.

“So, we’re hanging out after school today, are we?”

Blaine jumped before he saw Artie roll up beside him, with a large grin on his face.  “E-eavesdropping is r-rude, you k-know.”

“So’s lying,” Artie shrugged.  “Besides, if you’re going to use me as a scapegoat, you should _at least_ hang out with me.” He smiled, rolling ahead of Blaine.  “Do you play video games?”

Blaine nodded.  “I-I p-play a m-mean guitar on Rock B-band.”

Artie held out a fist to Blaine; Blaine hit it back with a small grin.  “That’s what I’m talking about!  Let’s rock and roll.”

“…L-literally, in y-your case.”

“Oh, hush.  Just get ready to bring you’re A-game ‘cause I’m going to kick your ass at Rock Band.”

“…Y-you’re o-on.”

* * *

 

The next day in Glee Club, Mr. Schue handed out sheet music for _Tonight_ from West Side Story. The papers made it to Rachel before someone (namely Rachel) had a problem.

“Mr. Schue, I think you made the wrong copies,” Rachel pointed out, flipping through the sheets in a huff.  “This is the duet version of _Tonight_ , not the Maria solo I wanted.”

“I know,” Mr. Schue admitted, passing out the papers to the rest of the class.  “I thought we’d try our hands at a duet.  You know, shake things up a bit.”

Rachel’s eyes got dangerously bright.  “So I’ll be singing with Finn, then?”

One of the new Glee Club members, a blonde Cheerio whose name Blaine didn’t know, glared at Rachel.  “Absolutely not.”

“ _Actually_ ,” Mr. Schue interrupted before a cat fight could break out.  “I was thinking Blaine would sing Tony’s part.  He hasn’t had a chance to sing for us yet, and I think it would be good for him, you know? Help him get over some of his nervousness and maybe lose that stutter.”

Blaine glared at him from behind the sheet music.

Rachel immediately started raging, as she often did when she didn’t immediately get her way. “Mr. Schue, you cannot expect somebody with a _nose ring_ to play the part of Tony!” Actually, the nose ring was a fake he found that he had started wearing because his mother was supposed to come home soon, but there was no reason to tell Rachel that.  “There’s no way Blaine has the emotional depth needed to accurately portray Tony’s sensitive soul and—“

“Thank you, Mr. Schue. I’d l-love to sing for Tony.” Blaine interrupted her mid-rant.  “T-thank you f-for asking me.”

Rachel glared at him.  Blaine suspected that if she could set someone on fire with just her eyes, he’d be in trouble right about now.

Instead, he offered her his hand, and led her to the front of the choir room.  “A-after you, Maria.”

She rolled her eyes at him.  “Try to keep up.”

And then, she began to sing.

 _“Tonight, tonight_  
It all began tonight.  
I saw you and the world went away.  
Tonight, tonight  
There’s only you tonight,  
What you are, what you do, what you say.”

And maybe Blaine was just feeling particularly egotistical that day, or maybe the whole hero worship of ~Finn~ had made him bitter, or maybe it was because _Kurt_ was listening to him—it didn’t matter why, in the end.  All that mattered is that when it came time for Blaine to sing his lines, he gave it his all.

 _“Today, all day I had the feeling._ __  
A miracle would happen.  
I know now I was right.”

Rachel’s jaw dropped.  As far as Blaine could tell from the corner of his eye, so did Mr. Schue’s, and maybe one of the Cheerios whose names Blaine hadn’t bothered to learn. 

It was a nice feeling, being appreciated for one’s talents.

But he and Rachel had barely begun singing the chorus when he felt like he might regret the decision to show off, just a little bit.  Rachel’s eyes were _wild_ , bright and crazed and looking at Blaine like he was a piece of meat, and she wanted to eat him.

He held the sheet music closer to his face for protection: it hadn’t mattered, for Rachel kept moving closer to him regardless.  Sure, she was still singing beautifully, and Blaine was doing his best to sing along with her, though he continually kept backing up in order for there to be some sort of distance between him and Miss Berry. 

It hadn’t stopped her, of course: by the time they sung the last few notes, she had draped herself across his shoulder, and seemed content to stay there even after he tried to swat her off with the rolled up sheet music.

This was _bad._   This was very, very bad.

“ _Wow_ , Blaine!” Mr. Schue clapped happily, tearing Blaine out of his Rachel Berry-infused-horror-fest. “That was amazing!  We’ve got to get you singing more often!”

Finn glared at him moodily; Artie gave him a thumbs’ up.  Kurt looked vaguely impressed with him, while Mercedes and one of the blonde Cheerio’s—Blaine suspected she was Finn’s girlfriend or something based on the way she was leaning on him—looked bored, for the most part.  Blaine suspected that the other blonde Cheerio was asleep, while the dark haired one was smiling at him like she found his misery amusing.

“You did do a good job,” Rachel complimented him, tracing her fingers along the outline of his shoulder; Blaine felt vaguely uncomfortable and wished she would stop.  “While I doubted whether your punk-rock soul would be able to tap the essences needed to accurately portray one of Broadway’s most iconic romantic leads, it seems I’ve misjudged you.” She batted her eyelashes at him again, and Blaine started to worry about her.  Why would one bat their eyelashes that much? Was there something wrong with her eyes?  “You complimented my voice _perfectly._ ”

Blaine ran to the back of the class room and squeezed in between two of the Cheerios for protection.  Rachel tried to follow him to the back, and the two girls, _thankfully_ , scooted closer to him so that there was nowhere for her to sit. 

So instead, she sat directly in front of him, in between Kurt and Mercedes, who both sort of glared at her for it.  Rather than paying attention to anything Mr. Schue was saying, Rachel had turned around in her chair and stared up at him, longingly; he avoided eye contact.

Beside him, the dark haired Cheerio cackled at his misery.

* * *

 

Then, just as life was beginning to start to make sense for Blaine, it threw another curveball at him just for kicks.

 _Kurt_ joined the football team.

 _Kurt,_ who was shorter than Blaine, who got slushied and tossed into dumpsters and thrown against lockers every single day of his life, just joined a sport with the people in the school who hated in the most.

“I j-just d-don’t know w-what he’s t-thinking.” Blaine confessed to Artie, at his house again after school.  Playing Rock Band after school with Artie had somehow became a ritual to Blaine, and if he had to, he’d even admit that the two of them had become friends somehow. 

(Just not _too_ close of friends, however: Artie still didn’t know Blaine was gay.  And if Blaine had his way, he never would.)

“Maybe he’s thinking if you can’t beat them, join them?” Artie offered as he beat Blaine once again at Rock Band.  Blaine groaned, but tossed the plastic guitar on Artie’s couch and crashed beside it.

“H-he’s g-going to g-get h-himself _killed_ , Artie.”

“Not if he’s good enough, though.” Artie added, wheeling over towards Blaine.  “Our football team _sucks_.  If Kurt can actually help them win the game, they may make him their hero.”

“He’s _gay,_ ” Blaine snapped.  “He’s gay, and so long as he’s gay, they’re going to do their best to make his life a living hell.  Trust me, I know.” Artie _stared_ at him, and for a brief and terrible moment, Blaine thought maybe he had figured it out.  So instead, he stared down at his shoes uncomfortably.  “They do it to anyone who’s different.”

“Right,” Artie agreed, and Blaine let out an inner sigh of relief.  “Did you know you don’t stutter when you’re all impassioned about something?”

Blaine blinked at him.  “W-what?”

“When you’re angry or upset, you don’t stutter,” Artie offered, shrugging lightly.  “I don’t know.  I just think it’s kind of neat that you can turn it off like that.  It’d be like if I could walk only if I was pissed at somebody.”

A wave of shame passed through Blaine.  Right.  The fake stutter. “ _Artie_ , I--”

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” He smiled, eager to change the subject.  “Are you going to the game on Friday?”

Blaine nodded slowly.  “I think s-so.  I w-want to s-support K-kurt, if nothing else.”

“You want to ride in with me and my Dad?” Artie offered kindly.  “I know your parents are still out of town, right?”

“Y-yeah, Mom doesn’t get b-back until M-Monday.”  His mother had left the country just before school had started because his Aunt Imee had just had a baby, and she had wanted to visit with her family. Outside of a few phone calls, Blaine hadn’t seen his mother in a month.  This was not unusual, and only grew more and more common the older Blaine got.  Blaine’s current theory was that his parents couldn’t actually stand to be in the same room with each other any longer than a day at a time, but didn’t want to go through the messy process of getting a divorce.

It would be humiliating, after all, if word got out that his father had failed at _both_ of his marriages.

“Must be nice, having the house to yourself.” Artie laughed.  “Man, my parents _never_ leave.”

“I-I’d s-say you could come s-stay with me, b-but we have stairs e-everywhere.”  This was true: Blaine’s room alone was on the third floor in what was once the attic—outside of Blaine carrying him bridal-style, there would be no way Artie could even get to his room.

Artie merely shrugged.  “That’s okay.  Thanks for the offer, though.”  He held out his fist for Blaine to bump.  “Wanna play some Halo?”

“Um, _yes_.”

* * *

 

The next day, as Blaine was standing quietly alone at his locker, contemplating what book to bring to his study hall, when, as if summoned by Satan--or whoever else it was whose job was to make Blaine miserable--Rachel Berry appeared.

He jumped.

“You’re a very good singer, you know,” Rachel said coyly, batting her eyelashes once again at Blaine.  “I should know: I’m a good singer as well.”

“Right.” He said, focusing his attention on his locker.

She moved in closer to him.  “You can kiss me, if you want to.”

He dropped his books on his feet.

She licked her lips, and moved in even closer.  Blaine tried backing away, but she kept moving in regardless.  Finally, he slipped the folder he was holding in between them, blocking her lips from his.

She kissed his folder, and then backed away, blinking in surprise. 

“I—I don’t want to k-kiss you, Rachel.” He said nervously.  “I-I’m sorry.”

She stared at him, confused.  “ _Why?_ ”

He froze.

_Because I’m gay._

_Because I like boys, not girls._

_Because I’d really, really like to kiss Kurt instead._

But he couldn’t say any of those things, and so he didn’t say anything at all: instead, he just sort of stared at Rachel with a confused look on his face.

She burst into tears, right in the middle of the hallway.  “Oh my _God_ ,” she cried, burying her face into her hands.  “You don’t even _like_ me, do you?  I-I thought we had such great c-chemistry during o-our d-duet of _Tonight_ , b-but you h-hate me just as m-much as everyone else does, d-don’t you?  You’re just quiet about it.”  She sobbed.  “I can’t even get a freaking _freak_ at this school to like me.”

Well, that was rude.

Here was the truth, however: Blaine _didn’t_ hate Rachel.  In fact, Blaine was sort of fond of her in a strange way, though he figured it was mostly just an appreciation of her talent rather than anything else.  If he were the least bit straight--or hell, maybe even just drunk enough--he’d probably really enjoy kissing her.

But right here, right now, cold-stone sober in the abandoned halls of William McKinley High School, Blaine Anderson thought he would rather do almost anything in the world other than kiss Rachel Berry.

That didn’t mean he wanted her to cry, though.

He put his hand on her shoulder gently, but she slapped it away.  “Please,” she cried.  “Just leave me alone.”

He thought that was the least he could do, and so he left, leaving her alone to cry to no one in an empty hallway.

* * *

 

That afternoon, Rachel Berry announced her departure from the New Directions.

“I’ve decided to focus all of my attention on the school musical instead.” She told them all proudly, looking so unlike the broken girl in the hallway that Blaine wondered if maybe he hadn’t imagined the entire thing.  “At least there, my talents will finally be able to be _appreciated._ ”

Mr. Schue looked to be in shock.  Finn started arguing with her, trying to convince Rachel to stay.  The three Cheerios laughed loudly, glad to finally be rid of her.  Kurt and Mercedes looked at one another and then rolled their eyes, like they didn’t quite believe this was the last time Rachel would be in Glee Club.

Blaine, however, felt sick to his stomach, like this was all his fault somehow.

* * *

 

Friday night was the moment Blaine realized he could fall in love with Kurt Hummel, completely and unashamedly.

He was at the football game, squeezed on a crowded bench between Artie and an older bald gentleman in a baseball cap.  The game hadn’t been on for more than three minutes when the gentleman poked Blaine, and then pointed to Kurt sitting on the bleachers.  “That’s my son right there,” he said happily, beaming with obvious pride and affection.  “God, he’s so _little._ ”

 _Oh_ , Blaine thought as he stared out at Kurt in the bleachers.  That explained the whole football thing: he was trying to impress his father.  It was a sentiment Blaine could easily get behind, has he had spent most of his teenaged life trying to do the exact same thing.

Then, the most amazing thing Blaine had ever seen in his life happened:

The boys of the McKinley High Titans danced to Beyonce’s _Single Ladies._ The straight, heterosexual, predominately meat-headed alpha males of the football team, were actually _dancing._   _They_ were following _Kurt’s_ lead.

Then Kurt Hummel made the winning kick, and the audience exploded.

“THAT’S MY BOY!” Mr. Hummel screamed, wrapping his arm around the nearest person (which happened to be Blaine).  “THAT’S MY LITTLE BOY, DID YOU SEE HIM?”

And in that moment, with Kurt’s father’s armed wrapped around him, watching as Kurt was hoisted above the entire football team, Blaine felt like Kurt could do absolutely anything in the entire world, and Blaine wanted nothing more than to be at his side when he did.

* * *

 

That Monday, Blaine’s mother came home.


	3. Chapter 3

 

That Monday, Blaine’s mother came home.

He knew she was supposed to be in sometime that day, but he hadn’t realized exactly what time.  So he had been sitting at the kitchen table, scarffing down the last bit of cereal when he heard the front door unlock, and his mother called out “Sweetie, I’m home!  Come help me carry my stuff in!”

He didn’t even _think_ about it.  He didn’t think about his hair, or his outfit, or the fact that he hadn’t seen his mother in a month.  He just set his cereal bowl down in the sink and walked into the foyer to help his mother inside the house.

He wrapped his arms around her before she had a chance to really look at him.  “Welcome back, Mama!” He said happily, squeezing her gently.  “How’s the baby?”

His mother squeezed back.  “Oh, she’s just the cutest little thing!  Her name is Lyla, and she has just the _darkest_ curls and—BLAINE DEVON ANDERSON, WHAT DID YOU DO TO YOUR _HAIR?_ ”

Oh, right.  The goth look.  He swallowed nervously.  “I just thought I’d try out a new look, Mama.  You know, a new school, a new look?”

“A _new look_ ,” she repeated suspiciously, hands on her hips, studying him furiously.  “A new look is getting a haircut, or parting your hair a different way.  A new look is trying out a different brand of sweater vests, or buy brown dress shoes instead of black. A _new look_ is not… _this_.” She pulled at his spiked collar suspiciously.  “You look like you just broke out of prison.”

 _“Mama._ ”

“Don’t _Mama_ me, young man.” She looked over him again, like she couldn’t quite believe her eyes.  “Has your _father_ seen you like this?”

Blaine shrugged.  For two people who lived in the same house, he and his father were _excellent_ at avoiding each other.  “I don’t think so?  I’ve been going to my friend Artie’s house after school.”

“You’re friend Artie,” his mother asked, nervous.  “Does he do drugs?  Has a nose ring?  _What sort of people are you hanging out with at that school, Blaine?”_

“Hey now,” Blaine defended, more amused than offended.  “Artie’s in a wheelchair.  He wears _sweater vests_.  We mostly just hang out and play video games.  He’s a nice guy—you’d like him.”

His mother did not look convinced.

“I just don’t understand, Blaine.  We raised you to be an upstanding citizen, not— _this_.” She eyed his outfit again, from his feathered fedora to his long converse shoes.  “What’s wrong, baby?”

“Nothing’s wrong, Mama.” He laughed.  “I already told you, I’m just trying out a new look.  Figuring out different ways to express myself, that sort of thing.” He kissed the top of her forehead.  “I’m still an upstanding citizen, I promise.  No juvenile delinquency here.”

“Alright,” she pouted, still staring at him in suspicion.  “But I’ll be talking about to your father about this.”

 _Hook, line, and sinker._   “Yes ma’am.”

* * *

 

April Rhodes was in her thirties and looked like hell, often came to class drunk, and was the most inappropriate person Blaine had ever met in his life.

(Which was saying something, as Noah Puckerman had also joined Glee Club.)

She was also, apparently, Mr. Schue’s idea of a Rachel Berry replacement.

She was a good singer, Blaine had to give her that.  She sounded like an amateur Broadway star, which was hard to come by, and would probably win New Directions Sectionals and Regionals and whatever else came after that.  But it also wasn’t _fair_ —April had been out of high school for years.  She shouldn’t be taking their spotlight, too.

Blaine also worried that she was a terrible, terrible influence on the club—earlier in the week, she thought it had been a good idea to teach Blaine and Mercedes how to _shoplift_.  Why?  Because they weren’t white, and that made them thieves?  Or maybe because they both looked and dressed a certain way?  Mercedes’s dad was a _dentist_ , and Blaine’s family was probably wealthier than the vast majority of McKinley High students.  They didn’t need to know how to steal, and even if they did, they were too honorable to do so.  It was such stereotypical bullshit, and it just made Blaine _angry_.

The Glee Club didn’t even need April, anyway.  The club was _full_ of talent, but Mr. Schue didn’t seem to notice or care.  It was like, unless you were white, heterosexual, able-bodied, and “normal”, then Mr. Schue didn’t want you to singing in the spotlight, representing the New Directions.  Which was such _bullshit,_ and made Blaine so mad that he forgot most days that he was supposed to have a stutter, and he ended up in the gym after Glee practice every day so he could box out his frustrations.

Which worked up until later in the week, when April started following him.

He punched the bag harder.  “Can I help you, Miss Rhodes?”

 “ _Miss_ Rhodes, he says.  Well, aren’t you a little cutie-pie?” She laughed loudly, taking another sip out of her thermos.  “Mama normally doesn’t like them so short, but she’ll make an exception for you.”

He stopped punching the bag, frozen where he stood.  He _couldn’t_ have heard her right.  “Are you _propositioning_ me?” He was _fourteen._ What was she thinking?

She patted his butt fondly, in a way Blaine was quite sure adults—or anyone, really--weren’t supposed to.  “Only if you’d like to join me in the shower, Tiger.”

He ran out of the gym so fast he was surprised he didn’t leave a trail of dust behind him.

* * *

 

If anyone could get April Rhodes out of McKinley, Blaine was quite sure his mother could.  If he played his cards right, at least.

“How was school today, sweetie?” She asked, cooking dinner while he worked on his homework.

“It was fine, Mama.  We have a new student Glee Club, actually.” He said innocently, twirling his pencil. 

“Oh? Are they any good?”

“Oh, she’s a great singer, Mama.  She’s really cool, too.” He took a long sip out of his glass before he continued.  “She’s older than the rest of us.”

“So she’s a senior or something?”

“No, she’s like, thirty.  I think she dropped out of high school but then decided to come back in order to graduate.” His mother stopped stirring at the stove.  “She taught me and Mercedes how to shoplift.  It was _awesome._ ”

Mrs. Anderson dropped dinner on the floor.

* * *

 

Blaine disliked Principal Figgins even on the best of days, but even he had to pity the man.

Sitting through three hours of Mrs. Anderson’s pure fury wasn’t a fun experience, even if it was, in Blaine’s opinion, a deserved one.

* * *

 

Having neither April or Rachel had sent Glee Club panicking.  They were supposed to be performing for Invitationals in less than an hour, and now their entire set list was ruined and no one was prepared to sing.  Mr. Schue had all but abandoned them, stalking Figgins outside of his office in order to try and convince him to please, please, just let April perform _tonight_ and then kick her out again tomorrow.

If Blaine were a braver man, he would fix this.

Blaine _wanted_ to stand up and take control of the chaos.  He wanted to tell his new friends that they could, in fact, do this.  They _could_ perform without Rachel or April: they were talented enough to go out on that stage and own it.

He wanted to tell Mercedes to prepare her absolute favorite Whitney Houston number, and be prepared to make him cry.   He wanted to tell Kurt and Quinn to find a song they could sing together, because they both had such beautifully soft voices, that together they must sound like angels.  He wanted to let Artie rap on stage, and have Puck back him up however he needed him to.  He wanted the two Cheerios and the two new football players to come up with some decent choreography for them.  He wanted Finn to go talk to Rachel, and bring her back here where she belonged.

Actually, he wanted Finn to do all of the above, and actually _act_ like the leader he always pretended to be for once in his life.

But Blaine wasn’t a braver man, so instead he did the only thing he knew how to.

He texted Rachel, and started to fix this.

_I’m sorry I hurt your feelings.  I didn’t mean to make you feel bad about yourself._

_I don’t want to date you.  Actually, I don’t want to date any girl, for a lot of reasons: most of them have to deal with why I had to leave my old school. I didn’t know how to tell you that though, so I froze and you just assumed the worst. It’s **not** because I hate you—I’m actually sort of fond of you, even though you are loud and a little full of yourself.  I actually wouldn’t mind being friends with you, if you’d only calm down a little bit._

_Please come back and sing with us.  We need you._

* * *

Sure enough, less than ten minutes before it was time for them to go out on stage, Rachel appeared, in costume, ready to perform with the New Directions.

Blaine couldn’t help but smile.  It hadn’t fixed everything—Mr. Schue still completely ignored the talent they had, and everybody just swayed behind Rachel as she sang her heart out on stage, but for right now, it was enough.

* * *

 

After the show, Rachel pulled him aside.

“Can I—hug you?” She asked, a little unsure of herself. 

Blaine nodded, and she threw herself in his arms.  She was crying again, but it seemed like happy tears, this time.

“You’re the first person who has ever _wanted_ to be my friend,” she cried against him, holding him tightly like she was afraid he might disappear if she let go of him.  “That’s all I’ve really wanted, was to have friends.  And be appreciated for my talents, of course, but mostly to just have friends.”

Blaine nodded, letting her go gently.  “I’d like to be your friend, Rachel.  I mean it.  I just don’t want to be…anything else.”

She nodded enthusiastically.  “I understand completely!  I mean, I know I can be a little abrasive for some people’s taste, but I promise not to pursue you anymore.”

“I appreciate that, Rachel.”

“Of course, now I really want to know what happened at your last school that made you want to stop dating.” She poked him playfully in the shoulder.  “We’re in _high school._   Our entire _lives_ revolve around who we’re dating.”

“Not mine.” He admitted, more to himself rather than to Rachel.  “And I _really_ don’t want to talk about it.”

“Of course.” Rachel nodded.  “Your mysterious past and general bad-boy attire just makes you all the more alluring.  I’m surprised more girls aren’t swooning over you just in the hallways.”

“I hope they don’t.  I mean, I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings.” He said quickly, eagerly to drop the topic.  “Would you like to sing with me?”

Rachel’s eyes lit up like stars.

“I’d _love_ to.”


	4. Chapter 4

The next few weeks of Glee Club passed by fairly uneventfully, by the New Direction’s standards.  By which of course meant they got busted for performing under the influence and, in general, being higher than a kite at school, thanks to the Vitamin-D Nurse Schuester (seriously what was _wrong_ with that entire family?) supplied them with.

Blaine was only grateful that they hadn’t contacted his mother.  Sure, she might’ve gone along with Blaine’s father’s plan about making Blaine face challenges on his own two feet rather than running away, but if she found out he had gotten high—just from over the counter medicine given to him by the school nurse—she would have him forcibly removed from McKinley, and then possibly locked up for life and home schooled.

And while McKinley hadn’t been Blaine’s first choice for starting his high school career over at, he had to admit he was becoming awfully fond of the school—or at least, the New Directions.

Unfortunately, the drug-related incident of last week now meant that Principal Figgins thought Mr. Schue was grossly incompetent—which he was—and had assigned the Glee Club a second director: the Madam of Terror herself, Coach Sue Sylvester.

Coach Sylvester scared and confused Blaine for a multitude of reasons, the biggest being his wonder at how she still had a job and/or was still legally allowed to be in the presence of minors.  His other major concern with her was that she had this frightful habit of figuring out students’ weaknesses, and then using those weaknesses to make kids feel horrible about themselves.

For the most part, he had been able to fly under the radar at McKinley.  Most of the jocks left him alone, despite being in Glee Club.  But Blaine wasn’t stupid—he knew how this worked.  All it would take would be a single rumor—like, if Coach Sylvester were to call him gay, or feminine, or imply in any way that Blaine was less than a hundred and ten percent heterosexual—and that would be it.  It would be like Belleville all over again.

Only worse, because this time, there would be no way for him to leave.

So no, he was not looking forward to having Coach Sylvester in Glee Club with them, especially not when Coach Sylvester decided to split the club in two.

“When you hear your name called, cross over to the other side of that shiny thing over there.”

“That’s a _piano_ , Sue.”

“Whatever,” the coach of evil rolled her eyes.  “Santana!  Wheels! Gay Kid!” Blaine sucked in the breath he had been holding as Kurt got up and moved to the other side of the room.  “Come on, move it!  Asian kid! Aretha!  Shaft!  And—“ She stopped and looked at Blaine, and Blaine’s heart stopped beating in his chest.

She narrowed her eyes at him.  “You are—some sort of vaguely ethnic something or another, aren’t you kid?”

Blaine gulped.  “I’m half Filipino, ma’am.”

“I don’t even know what that is.”

Blaine frowned at her.  “Um, the Philippians are islands?  In the Pacific Ocean?” She continued to look confused at him.  Seriously, _how_ was this woman an educator?  “In Asia?  I’m half Asian?”

Finally, she shrugged.  “I have no clue what you just said because I was distracted by your hideous triangular-shaped eyebrows.  Get with the other hobbits in the Shire, Frodo.”

He bolted over to most of his friends before she could change her mind. 

Artie grabbed one of his arms and one of Mercedes’.

“You see, unlike _you_ , William, I don’t want to ignore the voices of minority students.”

“Ignore the— _Sue_ , what are you _talking_ about, I don’t ignore—“

Blaine just sighed, and hoped this week would be over with soon.

* * *

 

“So, you’re Filipino?"

It was, to Blaine’s knowledge, the first time the tall Asian footballer had said a single word to anyone since joining Glee Club.

“Well, half,” Blaine blinked at him, ignoring whatever Coach Sylvester was yelling at them about while they danced in the background.  “My dad’s family is from Manila.”

The boy smiled back at him.  “That’s so _cool._   Wait, sorry, that’s weird.” He laughed quietly.  “My parents were both born in China before they moved to the US, so they’re really big on Asian culture, so I’m always interested in meeting other people who come from similar backgrounds.”  He held out his hand for Blaine to take.  “I’m Mike Chang.”

“Blaine Anderson,” Blaine shook his hand.  “I think this is the most I’ve ever heard you speak.”

Mike blushed lightly.  “Yeah, I’m really, uh, shy.  I don’t talk to people a lot.”

Blaine grinned and nudged him with his shoulder.  “I understand.  I’m glad you talked to me, though.”

“ASIAN KID, SOMEWHAT ASIAN KID, STOP YOUR GOSSIPING AND START DANCING!” Coach bellowed through her bullhorn, and that had been the end of that short-lived conversation.

* * *

 

Then, suddenly and unexpectedly, Mike and Blaine were _bros_.  Like, actual bros, the kind who hung out all the time and danced for fun and told each other (almost) everything.

Often times, Artie joined them, officially so they could have a complete band on Rock Band but unofficially because they all enjoyed one another’s company, and before too long the two of them were the best friends Blaine could ever remember having.  

The only problem Blaine had with being friends with Mike and Artie was that the two of them, when together, often talked about girls, and how much it sucked not having a girlfriend, and how awesome kissing a girl would be, and how much they would love and respect a girl, even if she did have highlights and a stutter.

At which point they’d then stare uncomfortable at Blaine for a few minutes, for Blaine had (currently purple) highlights and also had a (entirely fake) stutter.

Blaine would then roll his eyes and go back to kicking their asses at Rock Band.

He thought bromances were supposed to be less homoerotic than this.

“So why don’t you have a girlfriend, Blaine?” Artie asked him, one afternoon during their daily session of Rock Band.

“E-excuse m-me?”

“I mean, girls don’t really know I exist, and Mike’s too shy to actually look a girl in the eyes, but you’re pretty normal!  You could _totally_ get a girlfriend.”

Blaine snorted.  Loudly.  “I d-don’t w-want a girlfriend.”

Both Artie and Mike stared at him like he had just admitted he enjoyed killing babies, or was perhaps considering joining the Cheerios, or something else that was just completely and utterly unbelievable.

“But why _not?”_

Here was the thing: Blaine _could_ have been honest.  Mike and Artie were both relatively quiet, and both of them were genuinely kind, and would probably still like him ever after he admitted he was gay.  But Blaine knew first hand how different people treated you after they knew you were gay—and quite frankly, he wasn’t ready to see if his new friends would be any different.

But he also really liked his new friends, and he didn’t much like lying to them.

So instead, he told them a half-truth, to make himself feel a little better.  “W-well, the last date I w-went on ended with m-me in the h-hospital and h-having to l-leave my old h-high school, so I g-guess I’m n-not really e-eager to try again.”

Mike and Artie _stared_ at him.

“What _happened?_ ” Mike finally asked, after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence.

“I d-don’t want to t-talk about it.” Blaine confessed.  “B-but sufficient t-to say, I don’t r-really want to d-date anyone right now.”

It took a few more moments of awkward staring, but finally Mike placed his hand on Blaine’s shoulder.  “Alright.  But if you ever need to talk about anything, you can talk to us, okay?”

“For real, man.”

Blaine nodded.  “I know.  A-and thanks.”  He smiled at them with a large, toothy-grin.  “Now l-let’s get b-back to Rock Band.  I b-believe I was winning?”

* * *

 

For the next two weeks, Blaine’s life passed by fairly normally.  Well, normal by the McKinley High Glee Club’s standard, which meant there was an obnoxious throwdown between Mr. Schue and Coach Sylvester, and then all of the football players were told they would have to choose between Glee Club and football and _that_ caused drama, but overall it had been fairly normal. 

  
Then Mr. Schue decided they needed to have a bake sale in order to raise money for a bus to take them to Sectionals, (which was stupid because Blaine sort of had a feeling that the only people who had any idea how to bake anything were him and Kurt) and when a few people complained about needing a special bus just for Artie (seriously it was no big deal, _Mike and Blaine already offered to ride with them_ , why did they need to raise money for a separate bus?) Mr. Schue forced them to use wheelchairs for a week.

 _Then_ the rumors started.

“Dude, I don’t know how you do it, but you make even being in a wheelchair look so badass.” Noah Puckerman rolled behind him after his last class of the day.

Blaine blinked at him.  “E-excuse me?”

Puckerman just kept smiling.  “I already figured you were a badass ‘cause you box all the time, but _damn._   Getting kicked out of school because you got into a fight over a girl?  And you fought like, ten guys at once?  That’s _hardcore_ , man.  I respect that.”

Blaine blinked at him.  “I-I’m s-sorry, but what?”

“Hey, no need to be shy!  I heard _all_ about it from Artie—how you tore the guy’s eyebrow ring out and decided to wear it as a trophy, and how you just got out of juvie for it.  I’m telling you man, that’s _bad ass._ ”

“ _Artie_ told you this?” Blaine repeated.  Well, that explained all the strange looks he’d been getting all afternoon.

“Yeah, man.  Hey, no need to be shy!  Us badasses need to stick together!”

Blaine blinked up at him from his wheelchair.  “I honestly have no idea what to say right now.”

Puckerman shrugged.  “Don’t worry about it.  Hey, can you teach me how to look badass in a wheelchair?  Because Puckzilla’s groove is all messed up right now, and I needs to look badass to impress the ladies, and the ladies aren’t so impressed with the chair at the moment.”

* * *

 

They were waiting together after school for Artie’s dad to come pick them up.  He was running late today, but Blaine found he didn’t mind too much.  He liked Artie, liked spending time with him, and while what Puckerman said about Artie telling stories about him bothered him a bit, he tried not to let it get to him.

Besides, he liked being friends with Artie too much to let a little thing like rumors ruin their friendship.

Right now, they were racing their wheelchairs down the abandoned hallways of McKinley, and despite Blaine’s best efforts, Artie beat him every time.

“Not fair,” Blaine groaned, wheeling up behind him.  “I thought I was going to win that time!”

“To be fair,” Artie grinned. “I’ve had a lot more practice moving around in a wheelchair than you have.”

“I’ve always wondered about that,” Blaine admitted shyly.  “Were you born disabled or--?”

“Nah,” Artie shrugged, like he was used to the question.  “Car crash.  I was eight.  My mom was driving, and she walked away from the accident just fine, but I—well, I was told I would never walk again.”

Blaine frowned.  “I’m so sorry, Artie.”

“It’s cool.  Besides,” Artie lowered his voice, his eyes twinkling mischievously at his friend.  “At least I still have full use of my penis.”

Blaine busted out laughing.  “Oh my _God_ , Artie!”

“What? It’s true!  I do!”

“And for your sake, I’m very glad to know that, my friend.” Blaine grinned cheekily.  “Can you imagine if you had said that to a girl, though?”

“What? I think that’s relevant information!  Especially if we’re dating!”

“That would be so awkward though!” He giggled breathlessly.  “Promise me when you get a girlfriend you won’t just—tell her that? Out of the blue? For her sake and your own?”

Artie crossed his hand across his heart.  “I do solemnly swear not to randomly tell a girl I like that I have full use of my penis, even if I think that’s information she should know.” He smiled sadly, setting his hand back down in his lap.  “Not like it matters.  I’ll never have a girlfriend.”

Blaine frowned at him, stepping out of the wheelchair and kneeling in front of him, so that the two friends were eye-level.  “Hey.  Don’t talk like that.  Of course you will.”

Artie rolled his eyes and, if Blaine wasn’t mistaken, blushed slightly.  “Says Mr. Dreamy, who could probably have any girl in the school if he wanted.”

Blaine patted his knee awkwardly.  “Have I ever told you how much I admire you?  You’re so brave and strong, and clever, too.   You’re amazing at video games, and you can play guitar like a boss.  Someday, you’re going to meet a girl who’s going to be so impressed with all that other stuff that she won’t even care that your legs don’t work.”

 Artie flushed softly.  “You think so?”

He nodded.  “I know so.  It’ll happen, I promise.”

“I admire you too, you know.” Artie said shyly, suddenly.  “I mean, you’ve obviously gone through some crappy stuff at your old school, and your stutter and my legs—they aren’t so different, you know?  People judge us on just that one thing, without even bothering to get to know us.”

A white-hot flush of shame ran down Blaine’s spine.  _It’s fake.  The stutter, it’s **fake**.  Tell him! Tell him everything!  He deserves to know! _ “Y-you’re right.  That’s—that’s not fair.”

“Exactly! Us underprivileged kids have to stick together, yo!”

“No.” Blaine said, suddenly confident.  “No, I mean, that’s not fair to _you_.  Me, not being honest, that’s not fair to _you._ ” He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.  “You’re my best friend here, and I can’t even tell you the truth?  What does that say about me, then, if I’m so afraid of my own shadow that I won’t even tell my best friend the truth.”  He shook his head.  “I don’t have a stutter, Artie.”

His friend blinked at him.  “I don’t understand.”

“I don’t have a stutter.” Blaine repeated.  “It’s a fake.  I’ve been faking it.”

Artie stared at him like he had been punched in the face, and Blaine’s heart plummeted down into his stomach.  “It must be nice,” He said finally, looking Blaine in the eyes.  “Faking something.  I wish _my_ disability was fake.  That I could just…stand up out of this chair and stop pretending, any time I wanted to.  But I can’t.”

Blaine blinked back tears.  “Artie, I—“

“Do you know how often I _wish_ people would talk to me?  Anybody?  Forget having a girlfriend, I can’t even make _friends._ People look at me, and all they see is a chair.”  Artie blinked at him.  His eyes were a little wet.  “You were the first person at this stupid school to ever want to hang out with me, and now you’re telling me it’s all _fake?”_

 “I _am_ your friend!” Blaine rushed out, his heart sinking faster and faster.  “You’re my _best_ friend, I’ve never had anyone like you before!”

“Then why _lie_ to me?”

Blaine’s face flushed.  “It’s not like I was doing it just to hurt you!  I had a good reason!”

Artie shook his head.  “Like what?  I don’t understand--why would you fake something like that?”

“Because—because I wanted people to leave me alone, and I thought—I thought if I had a stutter, people would leave me alone, and they wouldn’t talk to me.  And if they didn’t talk to me, they couldn’t get to know me, and if they didn’t get to know me, they wouldn’t know—“

Artie raised an eyebrow suspiciously.  “Know _what_ , Blaine?”

“That I’m gay.” He breathed out, before he could think it through, before he could stop himself, really.  His impulsiveness would be the death of him someday. 

Artie’s eyes got wide, though he didn’t say anything at first.  “You’re gay?”

Blaine forced himself to breathe through his nose.  “I—yeah.  I’m gay.”

“And you didn’t want to tell me because---?”

Blaine swallowed.  “Because the reason I had to leave my last school was because I was gaybashed for going to a dance with another boy.  And I didn’t want that to happen to me again.  And I wasn’t sure how you’d react, and you’re my best friend, and I didn’t want you to hate me.”

“ _Blaine_.” Artie said quietly, his eyes soft as he squeezed Blaine’s hand gently.  “I could never hate you.  You’re my best friend, too.”

He wiped his eyes where a little bit of moisture had gathered.  “Do you mean that?”

“Of course I do!  I mean, I’m a little upset you lied about the stutter and all, but I could never hate you.” He squeezed his hand a little tighter.  “You—you were gaybashed, though?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s that mean, exactly?”

“It means that three guys didn’t like that I was gay and took a baseball bat to my head.” He wiped his eyes again, unsure, exactly, of why he was crying.  “I was in the hospital for a month thanks to them.”

Artie winced.  “I—I know how that feels.  The—the hospital part, at least.  I was stuck there for a little over a month after the accident with my legs.  It’s---it’s hard.” He squeezed his hand again.  “We could trade hospital stories, if you’d like?”

Blaine choked back his laughter.  “Did the food suck just as much back then as it does now?”

“Man, you have no idea.” Artie laughed, and Blaine was surprised to see that his eyes were wet, too.  “I’m—I’m glad you told me, though.”

He smiled widely.  “I’m just glad you’re still my friend.”

“I’ll always be your friend.” Artie grinned, wiping away the tears at his own eyes. “Now get over here and give me a hug, you loser.”

It was, Blaine felt, the best hug of his life.

* * *

 

Artie’s dad was suspicious as to why they both looked like they had been crying when he finally picked them up, but Blaine hadn’t cared.  For the first time in months, he felt like things would finally be okay.


End file.
